Free GRIT: A Spartan Riders Novel by J.C. Valentine Page A

stretched his arm across the back of the sofa. “I did some thinking, and I was wrong. I like having a woman in my bed more than a night. Hell, I like having a woman in my bed, period. And it’s been a while since that happened. Hell, it’s been a while since I wanted that to happen.”
    A thrill bubbled in her chest as Gabby took this in. “Are you saying you changed your mind?”
    “About you being in my bed? Absolutely.”
    “I don’t know what to say. What changed your mind?”
    A dark smile played about his lips, and his hand came up to play with her hair. “That kiss. I haven’t gotten a single good night’s sleep since. It’s all I think about.”
    “Me too,” she confessed.
    “Good, then we’re in agreement?”
    “Ah…about what, exactly.”
    “About you being in my bed. Not every night of course. And when I say you’re in my bed, I mean my bed, Gabby, no one else’s. I don’t share.”
    “Of course not,” she said automatically, then frowned. “I haven’t even agreed to anything yet, and you’re talking like it’s a done deal.”
    Moving closer, Blake slipped his fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her head and demanding her undivided attention. “You’ve been thinking about me. About our kiss.”
    Her tongue dragged over her bottom lip in answer, and his gaze latched onto the movement.
    “I assume you want more?”
    She nodded, her answer coming in the form of a rapidly increasing heart rate and the inability to breathe without opening her mouth. Which only invited his delectable mouth closer.
    “Because I want more and, Gabby?”
    “Hmmm?”
    He leaned in, his mouth hovering over hers. “I get what I want. Always.”
    An invitation to his bed and an excuse to touch and be touched by him any time she wanted? Who was she to argue?
     
    ***
    Blake sat at a glass top patio table with Gabby on one side and Ash on the other. He’d been fielding questions from her parents for the last hour, explaining what he did for a living—lead contractor currently heading up a project for a multimillion dollar waterfront housing development—and what he didn’t do as president of a motorcycle club. No, he didn’t kill people—anymore. No, he didn’t run drugs—anymore. No to prostitution, gambling, and every other kind of illegal activity they could think of. And a big fat no on being an ex-con.
    That, thankfully, was one of the few black marks he’d been able to keep off his record. Although he did have a few misdemeanors to his name, but he omitted those.
    As it stood now, both parents were smiling and seemed to have taken a liking to both him and Ash. But who could say no to him. The kid was a people magnet.
    Meeting the parents hadn’t been on his agenda for the day, though. When he’d rolled out of bed that morning with a plan in mind and Gabby’s address burning a hole in his GPS thanks to Country’s quick work and skill with a computer, he was prepared to fight with her. Bend her willpower. Then, after an impassioned resistance, they’d spend the day hanging out, watching some television, and when nightfall came, maybe work on some more of that kissing.
    He could do none of that with Ozzy and Harriet hanging around.
    “So, do you live with Gabby, or does she live with you?” he asked. The question had been burning through his mind all afternoon.
    “Oh, our Gabs moved back home this spring, but she never really said why.” Her mother turned a quizzical look on her daughter, the hope of an answer clear in her gray-blue eyes.
    “Bad breakup. Nothing to write home about,” Gabby explained succinctly with a dismissive wave of her hand.
    A breakup that sent her packing? Her gaze darted to his and away again, a faint smile on her lips. Seemed like there was more to the story than she was telling. She reached forward to grab the pitcher of iced tea, but Blake beat her to it.
    Slanting him an annoyed look, Gabby allowed him to refill her glass without comment. He smirked as he